


Ever After (Cherik au)

by starcrossedcherik



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Male Cinderella, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-10-08 06:52:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17381741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcrossedcherik/pseuds/starcrossedcherik
Summary: In late 16th century France, Charles is a modest servant in his stepfather's house. A chance meeting with Prince Erik has him terrified, but the Prince adores him and his compassion. The King announces to the country that Prince Erik does not have to marry the Prince of Spain if he can find himself a spouse by DaVinci's Ball, and Charles' stepbrother Cain desperately tries to court the Prince, but he is busy falling for Charles.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I abandoned this work years ago when I deleted all my fandom related content in college, but before tumblr got 9/11'd I got inspired by that post where someone updated a work that hadn't been updated in 5 years and the only note was "Hi. I have nothing to say for myself."

The Xaviers were a well off house in 16th century France, with an estate just outside of Paris. Charles Xavier was the only son of Brian and Sharon Xavier, the former of whom had died early in his childhood. Countess Xavier had eventually remarried, a Baron named Kurt Marko who had two children of his own, Cain and Raven. Baron Marko was not a particularly affectionate man, but Sharon brought it out in him, particularly with the way she treated his kids as her own.

The Countess was tucking the three of them into bed herself and had shuffled a maid out of the room (“Really Jean, the day has been long. You ought to retire for the night,”) when Charles picked up a book sitting on the table by the hearth.

“Mother, what’s this one?” Charles held out the book to her expectantly.

“Oh, that little thing? It’s called Utopia. One of my favorites when I was younger.”

“Would you read it to me?”

The countess took the book out of her son’s hands and looked at it fondly. “Just the first few pages, or until you fall asleep, darling.”

Charles clapped his hands excitedly and kissed his mother on the cheek. As she sat in the chair next to the hearth Charles climbed into bed and made himself comfortable. Cain was already breathing deeply and Raven perked up in her bed, fighting the sleep in her eyes even though it was clearly a lost battle to be over shortly. The soft, luscious voice of the countess put Raven to sleep within minutes; Charles fought the weight of his eyelids for a good few pages longer than his new sister, eventually succumbing to sleep as well. Sharon looked up while turning a page to see him fallen asleep, and smiled. Rising from her chair, she placed the book atop the fireplace and tiptoed over to Charles’ sleeping form, whereafter she tucked a lock of his deep chestnut hair behind his ear.

“Goodnight, Charles.”

 

******

Countess Xavier had matters to attend to in Bourges, and the next morning she had prepared a carriage for her departure. She kissed Charles on the forehead and embraced Marko before he assisted her getting into the carriage. Baron Marko made to retreat into the house when a Charles tugged on his sleeve.

“Wait! When she gets to the gate she’ll stop to wave back at us. It’s tradition!” Charles said with excitement in his voice.

Baron Marko, although unamused, complied. Cain snickered at Charles’ childish behavior, and Raven looked intrigued.

As Charles promised, the carriage came to a halt right before passing through the front gate. A moment passed, and Marko furrowed his brow with impatience; Charles frowned in confusion.

The door to the carriage swung open and Countess Xavier poured out of the cabin unceremoniously, a hand clutching her chest as if she couldn’t breathe and her antics twisted in pain.

“Mother!” Charles sprinted across the lawn of the estate, ruining the new slippers of expensive silk (being too young for boots yet). The Baron’s stride made up for his hesitation, and Charles and Kurt fell to their knees nearly in unison in front of her.

“Sharon,” Baron Marko breathed.

“Mother,” Charles sobbed.

“I… love you.” The countess’ breathes were shallow and her hand shook as it slowly made its way to Charles’ face. Tears fell as his mother tried to push a lock of hair behind  
Charles’ ear, an affectionate gesture Charles knew to be her sincerest.

Baron Marko clung desperately to her other hand, but all of his wife’s attention was on Charles. Something about his face hardened when he realized Sharon’s last words were not meant for him.

“Mother,” Charles pleaded softly.

Her eyes went dull. Her grip faded in her husband’s hand as her young son clung to her dress.


	2. Throwing Apples

Baron Marko grew bitter towards his stepson Charles. By the time he was fourteen, Marko had somehow manipulated Charles to the point where he was fetching water and tending the horses like the servant staff of the House. Cain reveled in every opportunity to be unkind, with Kurt practically encouraging. A bit of a silver lining was that the staff of the house was always incredibly kind to him, often even taking his chores from him when the Markos were not looking. Hank and Charles kept eachother as close friends, and often times Hank felt more like a brother than Cain.

By the time he was eighteen, one would not guess he could be the son of a count by the way of his dress. His shirts were often plain and dirty, his trousers much the same. Freckles dusted his cheeks from hours spent outdoors, and the physical labor certainly hadn’t done any damage to his physique over the last few years.

Charles was picking fruit in the small orchard when he heard the horses panicking. He rounded the barn to see a man trying to steal one of the horses.

“Hey! Stop!” Charles broke into a dead sprint, dropping most of the apples in his arms.

The thief was halfway on the saddle when Charles aimed his last apple right at the man’s head. A satisfying oomph signaled that Charles had hit his target squarely.

Charles jogged the rest of the way to apprehend the thief. “Just who do you think you are, stealing people’s hors—“

Charles’ eyes widened in horror as the man stood up to dust himself off, for he immediately recognized him as Prince Erik.

“You’ve got quite an arm on you.” Erik said, rubbing his head where the apple had connected with his skull.

Charles fell to his knees and put his face to the ground. “Forgive me your Highness, I did not recognize you.”

“Well, you were only defending that which is yours.” Prince Erik mused. Prince Erik spotted a royal patrol on the hilltop opposite the Xavier house and displeasure worried his otherwise handsome face. He hastily mounted the horse, this time successfully.

“And for that I must face the consequences.” Charles' face was still in the grass, his vioce trembeling with fear.

Prince Erik pulled a coin purse out from his pocket and dropped it on the ground near Charles. “For your secrecy, my good sir; tell no one you have seen me. I will return your horse by tomorrow.” And with that he spurred the horse away.

Charles dared to raise his head as Prince Erik fled, staring after him in confusion. What on Earth had the Prince in such a rush to be off that he could not deal with a meager citizen that had assaulted him? And why was he without an escort? His eyes eventually wandered to the purse, which looked rather heavy with gold.

Charles opened the purse and decided that it was better not to ask questions. He gathered up the apples he had dropped (the one that hit the Prince’s head was bruised; he fed it to a horse instead) and returned to the orchard, where he picked the rest of the apples that were ripe.

Upon return to the house, he found chaos. Kurt had decided to sell one of the servants to pay off a debt, and Logan had been standing next to him when he made that decision. Jean was in hysterics, Sean and Moria holding her back as Logan was ushered none too gently on a cart that was driven by a sinister looking man.

Baron Kurt was quarreling with a squire, who seemed to be in charge of the arrangement.

“Baron Marko, what are you doing?"

“Settling a debt, Charles. What does it look like?”

"You can't just sell him! Logan has been a servant of this house for twenty years."

"Then you'l be relieved to know that I've sold Logan's contract, not the man himself," Kurt said snidely. "Besides, I'm sure the work the palace gives him will be much lighter a load than what he does here."

The carriage man snorted in amused disagreement.

Charles fumed and turned away, deciding consoling Jean was the most he could do to help anymore. Hank and Moria had ushered her into the servants' quarters, where she had resigned to sobbing quietly. Charles paced the short width of the room as he tried to think of something to say to Jean.

"He can't just do this!" Charles kicked an empty crate against the wall.

"Well monsieur Charles, apparently he can." Hank said bitterly.

Charles sighed heavily and resumed pacing. "He acts like you are property. It's sickening."

"It is. But unless we can buy Logan back, we just have to suck it up Charles."

"That's impossible! Kurt sold him for twenty gold pieces, where would we get-" Charles stopped midthought and midstride, touching the coin purse the prince had so effortlessly handed over to him about a half hour earlier. He pulled it out and emptied its contents onto the table next to Jean and Moria.

"I think that might be near enough," Hank chocked out.

"Where did you get all of that?" Jean whispered, her eyes glazing with wonder.

"A gift from a stranger. Come on guys, I have an idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture Logan looking very Hugh Jackman as Jean Valjean. It gives me a lot of feels.


	3. Mona Lisa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comic Canon Emma Frost Is My Absolute Favorite And A Fucking Queen And The Movies Did Not Do Her Justice

Prince Erik galloped away on the borrowed horse and into the woods next to Baron Marko’s property. Imagining he was finally alone, the Prince slowed the horse to a trot and simply enjoyed the scenery. Unfortunately, this caused him to walk straight into a road, on which a caravan was being robbed by bandits.

“Stop! No, no you can’t have that! I demand you put that down instantly!” A tall blonde woman in a flawlessly white coat was chasing around the bandits who were emptying the carriages screaming at them. She had on a flawlessly white coat that seemed to give color to her porcelain skin. Prince Erik realized the woman had on heeled knee high boots, to give her the appearance of height. She seemed cold and passionate all at once, held back only by her entourage, which formed a barrier between her and the bandits as if her life were too precious to risk over loss of material possession, a thought she clearly did not share.

One particular bandit walked by her with a canvas storage tube, and the woman looked at him with a look of pure hatred. “You will give that back this instant or so help me-“

The blonde woman spotted Prince Erik on horseback and ran to him. “Please sir, you must help me! That man is stealing my life’s work!”

Erik looked down at her in wild confusion. “I- I ca-“

The woman in white looked at him with a cold kind of determination. “”You /must/. This is a matter of life and death.”

On the other side of the road a royal patrol emerged from the forest. Prince Erik decided that this woman’s request was suddenly worth his time.

The bandits made a dash for the forest as soon as the royal patrol announced themselves, in fear of incarceration. Prince Erik reigned the horse to follow the bandit with the woman’s precious tube, though he couldn’t for the life of him understand how it could mean her life. The bandit had a small head start, which didn’t last long on account that he was running on foot and the Prince on horseback. Prince Erik reached out to grab the man by the shirt, but the man tripped and brought the prince off his horse as he hit the ground. Recovering quickly, the bandit continued to run. Prince Erik followed closely behind.

The ground beneath them came to a sharp downward slope, and the bandit slipped on wet leaves. Prince Erik lunged after him and caught hold of one end of the canister just as the two of them fell off the cliff and into the river below.

Seconds passed before Prince Erik burst out of the cold water, gasping for air. The canister, his prize, surfaced shortly after himself. The bandit was making a break for it downstream, but the Prince did not care enough to catch him.

Prince Erik was able to eventually hike his way back to the caravan and the woman in white. The royal patrol was still lingering, and the Prince sighed heavily. So much for not getting caught.

“Mademoiselle, this belongs to you I believe?” Prince Erik said as he approached hearing distance of the caravan.

“Oh bless the skies, you’ve saved me!” The woman in white nearly snatched the canister from his hands.

“You’re welcome,” Prince Erik said as he dismounted his horse. “You said this was a matter of life and death- but I do not see how.”

“A woman always is,” The woman in white said as she pulled a rolled canvas out of the container. The canvas unrolled to reveal an exquisite portrait that could be mistaken for nothing but the famous Mona Lisa. “It’s my life’s work, you see.”

“You’re Signora DaVinci? Emma Leona DaVinci?” The Prince said in disbelief.

“Just Emma to you, my good sir. And you might be…?” Emma looked at him expectantly.

“He is Sir Erik, the crowned Prince of France, Mademoiselle, and he is currently out against the king’s wishes,” the lead of the royal guard interrupted.

“Yes, yes,” Prince Erik rolled his eyes. “But you! You are DaVinci! The maker of modern thought! A social visionary! My father is the king of backward reason, perhaps you could bring him into the sixteenth century!”

Signora Emma looked to the royal guardsman for help. “Translation?”

The guardsmen sighed and explained, “Prince Erik suffers from an arranged marriage… Among other things.”

Prince Erik ignored the insult. “Please, Signora, if anyone could change my father’s mind about the whole ordeal, it’s you.” The Prince begged.

Signora Emma looked at the Prince with pity. But he had done her the kindness of saving her painting, and she supposed she owed him the favor. “I will talk to him for you, but I cannot promise anything. I am just a painter, dear prince.”

“Yes! Thank you, thank you so much Signora!” Prince Erik embraced Emma in an expression of gratitude. Turning to the royal guard, he said, “Now, I believe you are on a mission to return me to the king? Senora DaVinci needs the escort as well, as you can see. And a horse, if you’d be so kind to my father’s honored guest.”

Signora Emma smiled at the courtesy. “A white one, if you don’t mind.”


	4. By Any Other Name

Within an hour, Hank and Darwin had Charles dressed in a fine tunic that was bought for Cain but failed short to charm him, despite the intricate champagne colored embroidery on its front and shoulders. Paired with a fine pair of trousers and clean riding boots, Charles was ready to pass as a courtier. After all, only a noble had the authority to deal in the matter of the purchase and sale of servants.

Charles rode into town on horseback, keeping an eye out for the cart that Logan was on. He spotted it just as the palace gates came into view. Charles dismounted the horse, bouncing lightly on the ground. A housemaid with a bucket gave him a sideways glance, and Charles recalled that nobles in Paris were usually very somber people. Charles smoothed out his hair and pressed the few wrinkles out of his tunic. Shoulders pushed back and head held at a slightly higher angle than usual, Charles approached the cart that held Logan and the other servants that had been sold off.

Charles cleared his throat to get the coach driver’s attention.

“Monsieur,” the driver dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“Good morning, sir. I am here to inform you that there has been a mistake in my staff’s arrangements, and one of these men has been sold to you by accident. I am here to buy him back.”

The coach driver laughed. “The crown does not give refunds, monsieur.”

Charles felt his confidence waiver. His jaw clenched and he gave the man a cold stare; intimidation was probably the only card he could play to convince him to let Logan go.

“My staff member was sold without my express permission, and you are denying me the right to fix a subordinate’s errors in my house? I am prepared to pay what he was sold for, in full. It would incur neither you nor the crown any loss and you refuse to assist me?”

“Sorry monsieur, take it up with my master. I don’t write the laws.”

“But I do,” a somewhat familiar voice said behind Charles. The owner of the voice walked past his left and towards the coach driver. Charles froze in a moment of horror and realized it was the prince.

“Your highness,” Charles gave the prince a low and formal bow, praying he was unrecognizable.

“Monsieur,” Prince Erik acknowledged the gesture as he dismounted his horse (/Charles’/ horse actually, from earlier this morning). “What can I do for you?”

“A member of my staff has been sold to you by mistake, I was humbly requesting from your servicemen here if the transaction could be reversed. He has regrettably informed me that this is not likely.”

“I’m just following the palace orders, your highness. I meant no disrespect to-“

Prince Erik held up a hand to silence the coach driver. “How much was your servant sold for, sir?”

“Thirty gold pieces, your highness.”

“Sell him back to this man for twenty.”

“S-sir?” the coach driver choked.

“As an apology for the inconvenience, monsieur." Prince Erik smiled eagerly, like a child expecting to be praised.

Charles merely produced the gold from his pocket-- thank God Darwin had found a coin purse that matched the tunic he was wearing, and insist that Charles use it; surely the prince would have recognized his own purse from this morning.

The Prince frowned at Charles in distaste. "Why are you not impressed? I've helped you with your affairs."

"Well, your highness, I am grateful.” Charles paused to weigh the consequences of answering honestly. “But you have kept order in this situation, which is in fact the obligation of the law, which you are an embodiment of. I did not think myself to be any special circumstance for so gracious a mediator.”

Prince Erik stared at Charles, awestruck. The prince turned to the coach driver. “Free him.”

“Wh-what?”

“Free the man.”

Charles fought valiantly to not run to Logan as he was removed, somewhat gently, from the caged back of the coach. Charles was sorry he had to treat Logan so coldly, inspecting Logan for injuries instead of embracing him, but there was a look in Logan’s eyes that said he understood what Charles was up to, and that he found it in their best interests that the charade go on unspoiled. So Logan stood with his head down as Charles thanked the prince.

“Thank you, your highness. I am in debt to your generosity.” Charles’ words had the slightest stress in them, as if he didn’t completely mean it.  
Prince Erik noticed. “What have I done? You are now more upset than when you got here.”

Charles grimaced, as if not wanting to say, but Prince Erik seemed to honestly want an answer.

“Well, your highness, it’s just that you’ve freed my servant, but what about the other men? Why should they suffer simply because their masters are not as remorseful as I over the loss of them?”

Something in the prince’s face softened, as if he were being exposed to true compassion for the first time and found it beautiful. It was gone after a moment, replaced by a look of determination. Prince Erik ignored the coach driver’s protests and walked to the back of the cart. As he opened the latch he recited, “by order of the crown of France, you are all now free men with no obligation of a monetary debt to the crown, and may work or roam as you please.”

The men in the cart suddenly sprang to life, bouncing on their feet as they jumped down from the cart with an endless string of praises falling from their mouths. “Merci!” “God bless you, your highness.” “Thank you, my lord.”

Charles could not help but smile jubilantly at the way some of the newly freed men looked at the street as if for the first time; others ran off immediately shouting the names of presumably loved ones. Charles caught sight of the prince staring at him and wiped the smile off his face, replacing it with a passive gaze.

“Who are you?” Prince Erik asked, completely in wonder.

“Just a simple courtier, your highness.”

The Prince laughed. “Are you really not going to tell me your name?”

“I- uhh, I can’t.”

“Give me a name. Any name.” Prince Erik pleaded.

Charles panicked. He could not give the prince his actual name, and he could not give another courtier’s name (and commit impersonation). “I- I’m afraid the only name I can leave you with is James DeLoncret, your highness.”

“James;” Prince Erik tried the name, smiling at Charles. “See now, that wasn't so hard.”

Charles smiled meekly back at him. “I really must be going now your highness, thank you for everything.”

Erik reached for Charles’ right hand and bent at the waist to place a small kiss on the back of his wrist. “Adieu, James. I hope to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I used James bc of James McAvoy. My original beta thought it was hella cute and like honestly what would you have done?


	5. Open Season

Charles waited until they were out of the city walls to embrace Logan. Logan hugged Charles more tightly than Charles could recall ever being hugged, and the man may have even shed a tear or two.

Charles handed Logan the purse full of gold. "Since I no longer need that for your safety, maybe you can use that for Jean's contract. It's only a matter of time before he does the same to her, and we both know it."

"Do I even wanna know where you got this from, Charile?"

"I didn't kill a man, if that's what your asking. Didn't rob anyone either."

"I'd argue you may or may not have just robbed the state of a few hands of labor," Logan joked dryly. "We're too old to go anywhere and start over, you know that right? We'd be dead before we ever earned our own land. Besides, you, Moira, Alex, Hank; you're our family."

Charles contemplated Logan's points. 

"What if you kept the gold, and worked as a free man for Kurt and bought Jean's contract that way, using the gold for a place for us all one day?"

"I'd like that very much, Charlie."

Charles and Logan split up when they crested the hill before the manor and the house came into view. Charles ran to the back cottage where Alex and Hank were waiting to help him undress, and Moira was with Jean waiting nervously for news if the plan would work.

Moira was the first to see Logan turn on the path to the house. "Jean! Jean!"

Jean took off and ran to embrace Logan in the courtyard. Logan caught her and laughed, and kissed her. Moira began to cry and Alex clapped.

"What is the matter with you two?" Kurt huffed into the room, curious and annoyed.

Logan and Jean had reached the threshold, their arms around each other.

Kurt glared at Logan, annoyed. "I thought I sold you off this morning?"

Logan shrugged. "The prince was feeling generous this morning and thought I was too old, I should spend my last years with my wife. If you'll allow it, I'd like to work off the rest of her contract so we can die free men."

Kurt pursed his lips. "Fine. Your wages will go directly to her contract though, and since we have no contract I reserve the right to terminate if and when it is convenient for me.

"Fair enough monsieur," Logan said, not looking at Kurt. He kissed Jeans cheeks and held her face in his hands.

Kurt rolled his eyes and walked further back into the house. Charles and Logan shared their idea of using the Prince's gold to buy a small cottage they would make into a commune for everyone away from the Markos, and they delighted in the possibility and basked in the feeling of hope, grateful to be together again.

******

The king summoned Erik to his chambers in the evening, after the pleasantries of Emma's arrival. When Erik walked in he had a hand on his temple, feigning an ongoing headache. Erik waited for his father to speak.

"Why. Why must you not only defy me, publicly, but also drag guests and dignitaries alike into our affairs like this?" 

Erik said nothing.

"Do you know how many royal families Emma is acquainted with? Do you know how quickly our alliance with Spain could fall apart once they hear you intend to back out of the marriage?" 

Prince Erik weighed his words carefully before answering; his father had never before now seemed to be genuinely interested in Erik's feelings on the matter of his impending marriage. Erik thought of the many fights his parents had in his youth, and their growing distance as he grew older. There was a period in his early teens where they were only ever in the same room for public functions. He thought of how loneliness seemed to engulf his family no matter how many people sought their audience. He thought of how much he would regret letting his children one day feeling as he did in his boyhood.

"Forgive me for what I am about to say, father, but an arranged marriage never made anyone in this room very happy." 

The King and Queen looked at each other sullenly, and the Queen cleared her throat. "Is the peace of our kingdom not worth the personal sacrifice? We are so rarely called to serve, and we are revered for it anyways."

Erik wavered. He knew it must look like a spoilt child, but he did not want to share the fate of his parents and their loveless political marriage.

"If there is no other way... I will do as the country needs. But we haven't even tried any other way, we are just going by what tradition suggests will work. Surely, if the Spanish want an allegiance with us enough to promise their firstborn to the French, they simply want the allegiance. We must have other things we can offer them."

The King sighed heavily. "Emma suggested we sign a 10 year contract with Spain, tying together trade routes so we don't compete with each other and focus on England. She also says if we remove some language barriers for the Spanish, send a few tutors to teach their nobles at court, it would go a long way for political and public perception among the Spanish, make us more amiable... I don't know what you said to convince her to help you, but she is a very clever woman and we are all very lucky she has no interest in being a wager of war.

"I shall give you a month to find a spouse of your choosing. If we have no reason to suggest an alternative to a betrothal, the Spanish will think we are just slowly backing out of the alliance. If it is love you seek, the Spanish King and Queen are very passionate about one another; Emma thinks love is something they would respect.

"I know it's not a lot of time, but it's the best we can do without sacrificing anything politically in the long term."

Prince Erik processed what he was being given. A month was infinite compared to the chance he had when he'd started the day.

"Thank you father, I-"

"Please be very cautious with your choice; your bride will be a princess- or a prince- and it will give their family a lot of power. You need a match who can also handle the challenges and obligations of marrying so high. I don't want to be compelled to veto your decision."

"Of course." Erik couldn't see himself choosing anyone who would not understand the obligations of the crown, and even if they didn't he reasoned his future spouse would at least understand the importance of his family's position.

"Please choose wisely, my dear," The Queen implored. "Divorce is something they only do in England."

******

Roughly mid-morning shrieking alarmed Charles that Baron Marko was having another one of his fame-worthy bouts of terror. Charles had long since learned it was better to come running rather than avoid the Baron, so with a heavy sigh he rose and trotted towards the villa.

Charles entered the fray of the house; Kurt and Cain were yelling at the servants in the room, Moria, Alex, and Jean were standing by the wall with their heads bowed, Raven was staring at the front door in a state of bewilderment.

"You!" Kurt's tone was dripping with accusation.

"Why would you not say anything?!" cried Cain.

Kurt advanced on Charles and grabbed him roughly by the arm, and shoved him into the nearest chair. Charles' eyes widened in fear and he fought to keep his composure.

"Baron, I do not understand?" Charles protested.

"No? You do not understand why the crowned Prince of France was here today, returning one of our horses? Do you have any justification for keeping us privy to a royal visit?"

Charles fought to not show relief. "I- I swore an oath of secrecy to the Prince. If I had broken that, such an offense is punishable by death. If he had not asked it of me I would have come to you immediately, I swear it." That his silence was bought, rather than sworn, Charles prayed was a very small detail that the Prince did not divulge.

Kurt's face soured, and then relented. He smoothed out his tunic and said "Well, I suppose I can forgive disloyalty to the House this once, considering I have been outranked by a prince. Fortunately for you, Cain was very quick on his feet and charming to the Prince, so despite being caught unprepared the Markos have still mad a good impression on his Highness."

Cain basked in Kurt's kind words, smiling and tilting his head impossibly higher than normal.

Charles finally collapsed into the chair.

"I think he likes me, Papa. Too bad he's betrothed to that Spanish cow, Jano-"

"Cain!" Raven shrieked.

"What? It's not as if he loves his fiance, he's not even French! How sad and lonely the life of a monarch must be."

"It is his cross to bear for us, bless him," Kurt agreed.

Charles could see Moira roll her eyes behind the Markos. He was going to give her a playful shove later for almost making him laugh in this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't think of a decent chapter name ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	6. Chapter 6

Rumor spread quickly through the city, that Prince Erik was unofficially looking for a new fiance. Every noble and remotely well-born young man and woman in the province was suddenly finding every excuse for business in the palace, in the nicest aisles of the market, and any other place the prince had visited more than twice in the last month. It was quickly understood that simply rushing him would not be accepted by his escorts, but he was free to engage with anyone who caught his eye.

Baron Marko and his children were in the market looking at pieces of fine crafted jewelry. Baron Marko had decided since Cain had made an impression on the prince earlier in the week, the family was best off putting all their efforts into Cain instead of having the prince split his attention between him and Raven. Raven had tried to be a good sport about it but Cain was not interested in that, teasing her that he was obviously the fairer of them both. Kurt also seemed to think if Cain were to truly stand a chance at catching the prince's interest, he would have to appear enticing more than anything else. They had bought silk tunics meant to cling to his figure more, and were looking at large silver belt buckles. Fed up with his vanity, Raven had wandered to look at brooches. Charles was busy stacking grain and caging chickens for their stall two aisles away.

Prince Erik had been lingering at a blacksmith's stall, where the smith' daughter had been chatting with him more than the smith himself. Erik had been genuinely interested in her until he had commented that he didn't think that much of a piece she had been raving about, and she hastily agreed with him and went back on her praise. Shortly after that, he thanked them for their time and excused himself.

Raven spotted the Prince before anyone else as he turned the corner onto the same aisle as themselves. She ran over to Cain and tapped him fervently. Cain rolled his eyes and turned to mock her, but his gaze fell on Erik and whatever quip he had quickly died before reaching his lips. Kurt began to fuss over Cain, but Cain hissed at him to act more calmly and busied himself with the silver cloak clasps he'd been looking at.

When Cain figured Erik had closed half the distance between them, he glanced up towards the Prince. He had timed it perfectly, and caught Prince Erik looking at him. Cain smiled coyly and returned to speaking with the merchant about the price of the clasp.

Prince Erik frowned, then made to approach the Markos. 

"Your Highness," Baron Kurt bowed modestly, Raven following suit. "Twice in one week I've been graced with an encounter. It is good to see you, and in good spirits."

"Baron, likewise. I trust your horse is happy to be home once more."

"He's neighing louder than ever," Raven jokes.

"Ah," Erik gives a tight lipped smile. "Ahem."

Cain, who had been pretending not to notice the Prince gave a small jump in faux surprise and spun around with a hand clutched to his chest. "Your highness, my apologies!"

"it's quite alright," Erik forgives him easily. "You're looking well as ever," Prince Erik comments, his eyes flickering down to the silk tunic Cain was wearing. A light sash tied around his waist accentuated the taper of his abdomen, the silk falling down his chest and draped lightly over his shoulders and doing all kinds of favors for the imagination. 

Cain snickered. "I hear one can't afford to be out and not look his best these days."

Erik was surprised by Cain's boldness; no one had openly commented on his search for a new fiance just yet, so far most people had been treating it as just gossip.

Cain turned away from Erik and back to the merchant. "My Prince, tell me what you think of this piece? This merchant says it's worth 5 gold due to the craftsmanship; no insult meant to you good sir, I'm sure it is worth the price but I'm just not sure it's to my taste. Thoughts?"

Prince Erik stepped up to beside Cain and inspects the silver clasp Cain was holding. "Well. Personally this is a lot more simple than anything I wear, though if I'm to be honest the royal jeweler has been making some pretty gaudy pieces of late, even the court is starting to jest they cannot focus from the glare some days."

Cain noticed Prince Erik had his hands behind his back, so he offered the clasp to Erik. As Erik reached to hold the piece Cain shuffled closer, as if to try to view the piece from the same angle as the Prince. "Hmm, I do like it's elegance. I'm just not sure I like the bits of Jasper laid in, I feel red ought to be paired with gold."

Prince Erik's eyes flickered to look at Cain, who was doing his best to casually ignore the glance.

"Monsieur," Prince Erik inquires the merchant, "would you have any alternative materials to replace the enamel, something of a dark green or blue perhaps?"

The merchant laughed nervously. "In my shop, certainly. I, uh, could probably replace the jasper in half a day. Free of charge, for you, of course."

Prince Erik smiled warmly. "That's very kind of you. Well Cain, what color would you have him replace it with?"

"What color is your favorite?" Cain asks playfully.

"Blue."

"I can do blue," The merchant replies eagerly.

"Splendid. Blue it is," Prince Erik says, reaching into his purse for a small handful of gold. 

Baron Marko moves to protest but Cain shoots him a deathly glare. Raven stares wide eyed and mouth agape.

"Your generosity knows no bounds, my Prince," Cain crowed.

Prince Erik waived his hand dismissively. "Please. You are... refreshing to be around. I don't feel fawned over by House Marko, and it is a rare kind of man who can make me feel his equal through finesse and not force."

Baron Marko could practically be seen with the light of recognition in his eyes. He slid a look of incredulity to Cain. "We are practically a humble farm in comparison to the crown, but I do understand what you mean. Resolve and poise are lacking among common men."

"Yes, that's it exactly," the Prince mused. "But a quaint farm nonetheless."

"Our stall is only two aisles away, if you wanted to see it," Raven squeaked. Kurt put a warning hand on her arm but smiled warmly at the Prince.

"Why not?" Erik asked cherfully.

The four of them parted from the silver merchant's stall and ambled through the market. Cain and Prince Erik dominated the conversation, Cain going back and forth between flattery and mock insults while Prince Erik reveled in the new rules of conversation that did not follow courtier convention. Kurt and Raven fell back behind them, whispering to each other fervently about how sharp witted Cain had become and how well the encounter was going.

"Our quaint little farm is actually a rather sizable estate, the family home of my deceased wife. It was originally an orchard, including stables, a hen house, and a sizable garden. We have no extended family with us and no long term guests so we produce far more than we need, and sell it here. It keeps our staff quite busy and it's rather menial work, but nothing too labor intensive and Raven particularly loves having horses."

Raven smiled agreeably.

Charles was overseeing the sales of the market stall. They'd brought in three bushels of apples as well as some already cooked into pies, several dozen eggs and a few chickens. Alex had insisted they'd brought too many apples and was fussing over it with Hank. Moira closed a deal with a kitchen steward and Charles went to go fetch his fresh chicken while Moira collected payment.

The section of the market that allowed small livestock was much louder and busier, even if this was the nicer aisle. Prince Erik's royal guard had gone from following a few paces behind to surrounding the small party, and those watching the Prince took note of Cain and his family being escorted with the Prince. Cain seemed to bask in it and ignore all the eyes on him all at once. Prince Erik couldn't help but notice how well he took the attention.

Their party closed in on the Marko's market stall without any of the house servants noticing much before the Prince was right in front of them. 

"While the apples are certainly what our stall is known for, Moira has a wonderful pie recipe for them. Charles is my stepson, he runs the-"

Charles had heard Kurt's voice, but he'd had no idea who his stepfather had been talking to. He had turned the corner with Moira's chicken in his arms, and when he laid eyes on the Prince he panicked.

Prince Erik jumped as he was hit in the face with feathers, the loud squaks of the chicken catching him off guard. His guards, a bit overzealous, cleared a circle around him and grabbed Moira and Alex in the seconds of commotion that followed. Charles had thrown the chicken and simply dove behind the makeshift counter of their stall.

"Your highness I am so sorry!"

"Are you alright?"

Prince Erik dusted himself of a few feathers and reassessed his surroundings. He nodded at the guards and they released their grip on Moira and Alex.

"Was it just the two of you? Just now?" Erik asked.

"And-"

"And the chicken sir, yes." Moira cut Alex off, worried he had not put together that Charles could not meet the Prince as Charles, it would be the end of him.

Charles' heart was beating wildly as he listened from behind the stall. He had seen the Prince, but had the Prince seen him? Charles prayed he had not had the time.

Erik decided to dismiss the thought. "Very well." He turned to Cain, "this side of the market is a little too crowded for my liking, but it has been a delight to see you again Cain."

Cain gave a small bow and a promising smile.

Charles let out a breath and broke into a nervous laugh as the Prince walked away and Baron Marko scolded Moira for losing hold of the chicken, knowing she would forgive him for letting her take the blame if it meant saving Charles' life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nitpicky detail but I'm changing the Xavier property from "manor" to "villa" and "Deloncree" is supposed to be "DeLoncret"  
> This chapter is hella short bc I felt like these two snippets should be separate from the next chapter

"My, Charles, you're looking ravishing as ever," purred a voice,  
Charles huffed before turning around to face the man.  
"Shaw. Always a pleasure."  
"You always say that, but it feels particularly lacking in conviction today. Am I that unfortunate looking? Or perhaps you're just been lying to me all this time." Shaw playfully leaned in and pouted at Charles.  
Charles couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You revel in making our interactions difficult. Should you be so shocked that I might feel a bit weathered from our last conversations?"  
Shaw laughed lightly. "You have far more bite than usual today. Did the Baron put your father's villa on the market already and I just don't know it yet?"  
"Not this week, I'm afraid," Charles quipped.  
"No matter, we'll see what tomorrow brings." Shaw's smile was predatory. "I wonder, how quickly Marko would sell the place out from under you if I and my friends found someplace else to supply our kitchens? A month? Two at best. Where will you go, Charles, if your house is auctioned off thanks to Marko's poor accounting practices...  
"Should it come to the worst for your dear ancestral home, do remember I have always thought rather..." Shaw's eyes dropped as he drank in the sight of Charles' collarbone just above his shirt and at his neck, as if ready to take a bite. "Fondly, of you. And I get rather lonely at my manor."  
Charles' face twisted with disgust. "I'll try to remember that."  
"You'd do well to," Shaw said smugly, as he pushed himself off the counter before walking away.

******

Charles was resting at the servant's table in the back house of the villa when Hank walked in for lunch. He greeted Charles and grabbed a bowl of stew that Jean had made for the midday's meal.  
"You, uh, wanna explain why you threw a chicken at the Prince yesterday?" Hank asked as he pulled up a chair.  
"When I went to buy back Logan, I ran into the Prince remember? The penalty for impersonating above your station is death in most cases."  
"But you're the son of a Count! Even if he is deceased, you have a right to the title."  
"With my lifestyle? I'm as good as a bastard and you know it. I haven't the slightest idea where my parent's marriage license is, and technically my mother lost her title when my father died.  
"Besides... I gave him my mother's maiden name so the encounter couldn't get back to the Markos."  
"Oh. Yeah that'll do it." Hank dropped the subject. "What was he like?"  
"The Prince? A little arrogant, yet eager to please. Not what I expected... He's much more open mind than I pictured a royal."  
"Open minded enough to consider bastards like us for his new fiance?" Hank joked*.  
"Now you're just mocking me."  
"You like him, don't you?"  
"He's a prince. I'd be mad not to." Charles defended.  
Hank smiled at him slyly. "Surely that's all there is to it."


	8. Chapter 8

Prince Erik and Emma Da Vinci had taken to spending time together when Erik grew tired of being followed in public. At first the Queen had thought Erik was considering her, but Emma laughed and quickly dismissed the idea over tea.  
"I barely have time to pursue my passions now, I hardly have time to be a princess. Besides, I'm a good ten years older than your son."  
"Worse matches have been made," was all the queen had to say.  
For the day's entertainment Prince Erik and Emma had gone to a lake just outside the city to test an invention of Emma's.  
"I certainly can never thank you enough, Ms. Da Vinci,. You have a way with people I hope to attain one day." Prince Erik was carrying what looked to be small wooden boats and a few scrolls of diagrams while Emma stepped carefully to avoid kicking up mud onto her impractically white riding boots.  
"If you call me Ms. Da Vinci one more time, I will trip you so you can smear every speck of mud from here to the riverbank on your tunic. Vinci is the town I am from. Da Vinci means 'from Vinci' in Italian. Now for the love of my sanity please just call me Emma. I certainly don't bother to say 'His Majesty, The Crowed Prince Of France' every time I address you."  
Erik took a moment to recover. "So. I feel like a few weeks is hardly enough time to find my soulmate. Any advice?"  
"I don't believe in soulmates, sugar."  
"Why not?" Erik set down her little boats when they reached the water's edge.  
"There are too many people in this world for me to believe there is only one other person who could bring out the best in us, and 'best' is incredibly objective. Not to mention the logistics of finding them." Emma took one of the scrolls from Erik and skimmed it for reference.  
"But many people describe when they fall in love as finding their other half. I've met couples that knew each other well enough to predict what the other would say or think with remarkable accuracy." Erik took back the scroll and looked up at his surroundings, taking in the sunlight and the river.  
"Your mother knows how I prefer my tea, and I've known her for maybe two weeks. My first studio master could tell what mood I was in by the weight of my brushstrokes." Emma went on passionately as she planted her two little boats in the shallows of the water and stepped into one, producing laces from within the boat to tie her feet in. "While it is a very intimate thing to truly know someone, we're all capable of knowing one another to remarkable depths if we let one another in. There are many kinds of love people can show each other, and it is unreasonable to believe that one kind of love is inherently more valuable than the others. People place the most weight on their romantic loves, yet it is most often a mother who would die for her child without hesitation, a brother who would murder and condemn himself to hell for someone else when he would not do it for himself."  
Erik mulled over her words for a minute. "I suppose that's reasonable. But then, how do I figure out who to marry? It's impossible!"  
"And yet you fought so hard for the right to choose!" Emma finishes tying down her other lace. "Tell me, do you think your father will burn me for witchcraft when I come back and tell him I've walked on water?"  
"Pardon?"  
Emma lifted her foot and the little boat attached out of the mud below the water and took a wobbly step forward. She grinned, looked back at Erik, and walked off onto the river.

******

Charles had spent the morning out picking mushrooms with Jean. They had found quite a few patches of them and filled a basket quicker than expected, so Jean had gone back to the villa while Charles lingered by the river to go for a swim. He felt at peace, floating in the middle of the river. Weightless and muted, as if suspended in time and space.  
"Lovely day for a swim, isn't it?"  
Charles jerked alert, his eyes flying open in shock to see a blonde woman in a white dress shirt /standing/ in the water next to him. His startle disturbed the water around him, sending ripples that knocked Emma off her balance. This caused her little boats to capsize, and Charles screamed as she crashed into the water with him.

******

Erik saw Emma fall into the water with a large splash.  
Erik tried not to fret as she made her way back to the riverbank. When she came close, he realized she was not alone. Emma and the other person struggled to find footing as they heaved Emma's little boats to empty them of water.  
"I went out joking about playing God, and I come back with an angel!" Emma laughed.  
"If any of us is an angel here, it would have to be you mademoiselle." Charles returned.  
"Emma, call me Emma. And you are?"  
"Monsieur DeLoncret!" Erik exclaimed in surprise.  
Charles stood in the shallows with his moth agape. "I- Your Majesty! What a surprise!"  
"Oh, so you know each other! What luck!" Emma handed Erik the little boat she was carrying.  
Charles laughed nervously and wiped away the hair clinging to his brow. "I did not realize I'd have the pleasure of your presence today. I'm afraid I'm quite under dressed." He prayed his plain trousers and threadbare shirt were not recognizably pathetic when wet, or that they would both buy the excuse of being out for a swim.  
"I would never go out for recreation in my nicer trousers." Emma comments kindly.  
"No, but you'll test mankind's limits in white linens," Erik retorts.  
"I like to see myself as a blank canvas! It keeps my mind flexible."  
Erik laughs. "How was your fall, Icarus?"  
Emma makes a face at him. "Not that I regret making your acquaintance, Monsieur DeLoncret, but it seems I did not design these to be able to handle any turbulence."  
"You _made these_?" Charles asks in awe.  
"I had some help from a woodworker in Florence, he showed me how to seal the wood together. I also consulted an acrobat on extreme balance techniques."  
Charles was still baffled, but he saw Erik shrug, and accept the explanation. Clearly this was not that unreasonable for Emma.  
The three of them moved up to a grassy clearing and Emma and Charles spread themselves out in the sun to dry. Erik formally introduced Emma and Charles- as Count James DeLoncret- and the three of them made idle but pleasant conversation.  
"Forgive my asking Emma, but if you have no title, how did you obtain the education and the resources to become the most famous painter in all of Europe?" Charles asked, careful to keep his tone light.  
"I am the best at what I do, and I have been very fortunate when it comes to being given the credit I deserve. And I am so much more than just a painter, sugar. I am an inventor, scientist, philosopher, engineer, mortician..."  
Erik laughed. "Can't you pick? Why spread your effort so thin across so many pursuits?"  
Emma propped herself on one arm. "When you are king one day, will you be a general or a diplomat? A husband or a father? A strong leader or a compassionate one?"  
"Well that's hardly fair, some of those go hand in hand."  
"He may even learn from one how to be better at another," Charles chimed in.  
"Precisely." Emma beamed. "And if you can find valuable wisdom comparing two adjacent subjects that everyone uses to learn from one to another, imagine the things you can discover by comparing topics no one has ever thought to contrast."  
Charles smiled with understanding as Emma went on.  
"The human mind is a brilliant mechanism with so many facets, it's a pity that so many try to flatten themselves out. The world around us is not accurately described when you divorce thought from feeling any more than when you divorce science from art."  
"Very idealistic words for someone who is known primarily for their art. " Erik remarks.  
"Hardly her fault; people do everything they can to define and confine you. The unknown makes most uncomfortable. It's why we like to hear what we already know, even though it limits us. Look at what Emma has been able to accomplish by disregarding that!  
"Will you be the kind of King who listens only to advisers who reinforce your decisions or will you seek those who can teach you things you don't yet know? Because monarch after monarch preferring to never be contradicted is why people like Emma don't bother with court life."  
"I didn't realize Sir Thomas More would be joining us today," Emma teased.  
"And is that why I've never seen you at court, Count DeLoncret?" Erik challenged.  
Charles side stepped the question. "Do you yourself not feel constricted by your role as a prince? Do you not have moments where you long for an identity beyond that? Or do you believe that's all there is to yourself?"  
"Of course I see myself as more than that! 'Prince' is just a title."  
"Then let yourself be more than that outwardly too! What are your interests, your passions outside of your obligations?"  
Erik pondered the thought lightheartedly. "I like tennis. I'm quite fond of reading- poetry. I don't see how those could help me be a better king, besides maybe exemplifying the morals found in my favorite poems."  
"You could share your passions with the people." Emma suggested.  
Erik laughed. "I don't think anyone would take me seriously as a king if I took up reading to the public."  
"Then teach them to read it themselves." Charles counters.  
Erik laughed again. "You can't be serious. There's thousands upon thousands of people in Paris alone! And why bother teaching peasants and serfs how to read, their role in society hardly involves any philosophical prowess."  
Emma gave a low whistle and rolled to lay on her stomach, her arms folded above her head to lay on.  
Charles blinked incredulously.  
"What?" Erik asked.  
"So you may be more than a prince, and Emma may be more than a painter, but a peasant is not afforded the same humanity?"  
Erik thought for a moment. "I'd never thought about it as a matter of humanity. But even if it was, isn't that the way of nobility? To garner more respect than the common man, and to pass down the mantle of responsibility for the betterment of society?"  
"Just not the betterment of the peasantry." Charles remarked dryly.  
"I-" Erik found he had nothing to say, and fell silent.  
"Your whole legacy will be defined by the responsibility of making decisions on behalf of an entire nation; not just the nobles of our land."  
"Do you teach your servants how to read?"  
"As a matter of fact, I've personally seen to it that everyone in my House can read, and even write a little." Charles had certainly never told Kurt as well, but it made running the market stall and the house easier.  
Erik tilted his head and studied Charles' face. "I did not know there were nobles who cared so much about their staff."  
Charles laughed bitterly "You've seen me personally harass one of the palace coachmen when Logan was almost shipped off to the colonies. Your- our servants- spend their lives making us more comfortable. And yes we have a lot of responsibilities and work very hard, but so do they. Who comforts them?"  
The trio fell silent. Emma began to dose off.  
"Forgive me, your majesty. It is not my place to tell you how to conduct yourself."  
"Don't be sorry. I would hate to become the kind of king who only listens to advisers unwilling to challenge him." Erik smiles earnestly at Charles.  
Charles blushes, but smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to sparknotes Utopia to write this chapter. One of my art history teachers would lose it on students who would say "Da Vinci" as if it were a last name which was a little pretentious, but I like the characterization it gives Emma to demand Erik not be so formal.
> 
> I've temporarily given up on chapter names, so if anyone has any suggestions for the last few chapters fuck me up


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter honestly feels like everyone is getting ready to compete on the Batchelor. I'll try not to make too much of this fic like that.

Charles spent the next few days subjected to the hilarious irony of the Markos raving about Cain's chance encounter with the Prince- and their plotting on when Cain could see him next. Kurt was already talking of the possibility of a "Prince Cain," and them moving into the palace and abandoning the Xavier Villa. 

Charles, who hadn't heard Kurt say his father's name in five years, lit up with possibility.

"Don't you see Hank, it's really in our best interest that Cain win over the Prince. If he marries the Prince, they'll have no reason to sell the villa, and they'll have every reason to leave. Kurt and Raven will become courtiers and they'll stay at the palace all year, too busy doing important things to bother with the likes of us. Selling it would make them look bad, and letting it rot would make them look bad. They'll need us to run it! We won't even have to buy ourselves a commune, we can have it right here!"

"I can't believe you're rooting for Cain. He's insufferable as is; can you imagine him as royalty?"

"He won't be my problem as royalty"

"No, just your sovereign." Hank said dryly.

"I will say, I don't think Erik deserves Cain. I wouldn't wish the likes of him on anyone, especially with how kind he turns out to be."

"Oh? Pray tell."

"He's certainly still arrogant. But after talking to him for a while, I think it's more a result of growing up so thoroughly removed from the struggles of commoners, I don't think he's completely void of empathy the way Kurt is. Plus he spends a lot of time with Emma Da Vinci, and the way she thinks is centuries ahead of our time. I imagine she'll rub off on him a bit."

"And you're still going to let Cain snatch him up instead of going for it yourself. What a shame."  
Charles laughed. "You're right, 'Prince Charles' sounds so much better. I should march into the city right now and profess my love for him."

"His options must be pretty slim, if he has any interest at all in Cain." Hank retorted.

"I think it's more that Cain is a rather brilliant actor."

"Well, he can't keep that up forever."

"Erik said he has a lot less than forever; the king wants him to announce his choice at Emma's ball in a few weeks."

"Oh no. Cain can definitely keep it up long enough then. That's crazy! That's hardly enough time to fall in love." After a pause, "And yet, you're on a first name basis with him."

"It's really because of Emma; her and Erik are on a first name basis and she doesn't actually have a title, so even though she thought I was a Comte she was just calling me James so I wouldn't be talking down to her. Which frankly I am quite grateful for, James was a lot easier to play along with than Comte DeLoncret would've been."

"Naturally. Still, even as a Comte, it's uncommon to be that familiar with a prince. Sounds like Emma makes a great wingman."

"I'll pass on the praise."

******

Erik had an upcoming tennis game with Baron Marcos du Bellay, and at the risk of being swarmed by potential suitors he decided to make it an open event. The queen insisted he send invitations to every person he had shown interest in if he were going to make himself so accessible.

"Invite du Bellay's sister, Alaine- I'm sure she'll already be there but if we're making a public declaration of it, I'd hate to leave her unsure of my interest. Baron Kurt Marko's son Cain, he was... interesting. Vicomte Maslin Ingelger, Comte Dampierre's daughter Evalin, Comte James DeLoncret, Marquis Wiatt Courtenay if he can make it from Normandy."

"You haven't seen Wiatt in a few years, I'm surprised you haven't reached out to him sooner if you still thought of him that way."

"I... thought this process was going to be much more discreet at first," Erik admitted. "How are we going to keep from the Spanish from finding out about me finding my own spouse to avoid marrying Janos?"

Emma sat up from the corner of the room where she'd been slouching and drinking tea. "We can dismiss it all as rumor, I've heard that Ambassador Jimenez has been quite busy lately since I told him a plan was in the works for the crown to sponsor a bunch of Spanish courtiers to come here and learn French. His gossiping partner Comtess Rouvroynd is cousins and good friends with Evalin Dampierre and she's too smart to inform him of your search and ruin Evalin's chances."

The Queen looked at Emma in surprise. "When did you tell him that? We should've thought to do so sooner, most regimes don't trust anything they haven't at least heard whispers of."

Emma smiled modestly. "A week ago. You're incredibly busy, your Grace, and I've more or less adopted this as a personal project of mine. Besides, the Spanish ambassador knows Italian and loves any opportunity to practice it, so he made it a point to make my acquaintance. He feels I've done him a great favor and will no doubt be instrumental when it comes time to presenting the Spanish with our proposal."

The Queen looked impressed. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a place at court and a political career?"

Emma simply chuckled.

"Your father wants you to have your decision by Emma's ball, which is in a few weeks. You need to narrow it down from 6 contenders."

"I'll do my best. It would help if I had more free time, but I don't know how father would react if I neglected my responsibilities for such selfish reasons."

"You should keep up with your royal duties; but I'll permit you to take a week off of your studies. Maybe after the match you should give tennis a break."

"Thank you mother."

The queen called for a messenger and Emma wrote out invitations to the tennis match. 

******

Raven was the first to spot the Royal messenger coming towards the villa, in between pages of the book she was reading outside. "Father!" Her voice rang with alarm. "There's a royal messenger approaching!"

"CAIN!" The three of them rushed to wait for the royal messenger in the foyer.  
Out of the carriage stepped a dark skinned woman, the pattern of her dress a simple maid's dress but in royal colors. Her black hair was done in elaborate braids. She produced a scroll and cleared her throat:

"His majesty, Erik Lensherr, Prince of France, is extending a royal invitation to attend his tennis match this week, against Marcos du Bellay of Anjou. First serve is at noon, if you'll be attending-"

"YES. Yes, of course we'll be attending!" Cain snatched the sealed letter out of the messenger's hand and ripped it open. Raven crowded over Cain's shoulder as they both eagerly read the letter.

Kurt shuffled over to the messenger, sliding a hand into his coin purse. "May I ask, Mademoiselle..?"

"Angel" She said, eyeing him skeptically.

"Mademoiselle Angela. Besides the obvious honor of recognition from the crown, is there any additional significance of receiving a direct invitation for this public event?"

Kurt handed Angel a silver piece.

"According to rumor within the castle walls, only those the Prince is considering for courtship have received a direct invitation."

"And how many other invitations are you delivering today?"

Angel frowned at him. Kurt handed her another silver piece.

"Three; though I know another two are being sent outside of the province.

"I don't suppose you could give me any names?"

"Unfortunately not. But I can tell you there is a Marquis, daughter of a Marquis, a Comte, daughter of a Comte, one Vicomte, then your son. Two of them are courtiers. Many are placing bets on the Marquis, as he is known to be an old companion of the Prince's."  
Kurt pursed his lips. "Thank you for your time, mademoiselle. If you come across any other bits of information you think I might find relevant, I'm sure I'll be spending a lot of time in the city over the next few weeks, I'm not a hard man to find." He pressed a last coin into her hand.

Angel nodded and returned to the carriage. 

"Come my children! We must figure out what to wear! All eyes will be on us." Kurt strode back into the house with theatrical levels of excitement as Cain and Raven giggled over the letter still, Cain clutching it to his chest proudly.

"Blue! I hear his favorite color is blue," Raven said eagerly.

"Don't be stupid, Raven. The whole city knows his favorite color is blue, which means everyone will be wearing blue and I need to stand out."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more matchmaker bullshit, but a huge Cherik date is coming up in the next one!!
> 
> I added these two lines to the last chapter, the color thing was a minor point in the movie but I liked it:
> 
> "Blue! I hear his favorite color is blue," Raven said eagerly.
> 
> "Don't be stupid, Raven. The whole city knows his favorite color is blue, which means everyone will be wearing blue and I need to stand out."

Erik was not prepared for the explosion of gossip his search for a fiance had brought about. He supposed people had always been talking about him, but with Emma constantly moving in to administer damage control, he couldn't seem to escape it. On the bright side, since sending out invitations he could walk through public spaces without feeling like a hare in a wolves den.

Angel, the head messenger, brought him letters of acceptance from Cain Marko and Evalin Dampierre. Evalin made fun of him the next day when they were sharing lunch. 

"I thought you were hard to get a hold of before, now I need a formal invitation to see my best friend?" 

"Honestly, darling, we both knew this day would come. There's no reason to take it so personally." Erik shifted to sit in his chair languidly, producing an air of haughtiness. 

Evalin laughed. "I was never very good at hard to get, Erik. I can't believe you have me competing with barons and sons of counts! I'm insulted" Evalin crossed her arms dramatically and pouted.

"What can I say? It makes me feel better about myself." Erik tilted his nose up.

"Then I should have been twice as patronizing in that little acceptance letter." Evalin slumped back into her chair in resignation. "What is this whole invitation business about anyways?"

Erik laughed nervously, and shifted to sit properly. "Well, as you know I've never looked forward to a political marriage. My father has agreed to give me a chance to choose my own spouse, but with the treaty they initially agreed to with the Spanish there's a pretty small window for them to alter the terms. Emma Da Vinci also thinks it's best if I have a reason, a lover, to ask them to refuse the tradition of joining our families."

"Have you considered this Emma is just using your cold feet as an opportunity to marry up? She technically has no title right?"

Erik laughed. "You should meet Emma, she isn't conniving like a courtier. She loathes the idea of 'being a princess,' says it would get in the way of her passions. As far as I can tell she's doing this honestly to see if she can, not to gain anything out of it."

"Oh..." Evalin sipped her tea in silence. "And these invitations, all the lunch dates you're suddenly busy with, they're your way of weeding through potential suitors?"

"Yes."

"And this lunch, the invitation you sent me yesterday, is a part of that?"

"I'm afraid so, Mademoiselle Dampierre."

"I'm being serious, Erik. I... Didn't realize you thought of me that way."

"Until quite recently, I couldn't afford to. You're one of my oldest friends, Evalin, and someone I've always enjoyed being in close proximity to."

Evalin hummed softly in agreement. "I suppose that does make me a reasonable potential match."

"It does," Erik agreed softly.

******

The next day Angel brought him a letter from Wiatt. Too long a letter to simply say he would be coming. Erik held the letter delicately in his hands, running a thumb over the wax seal and bracing himself before reading the letter.

_"Erik,_

_"It's been some time since I've heard from you, and I can't think of stranger circumstances. I've never been good at pretenses, so I'll plainly say that I'm honored to know you think of me so fondly as to reach out when you have a chance to marry anyone of your choosing. “Unfortunately, I do not have that luxury and if I did, I cannot say I would ever marry you purely out of love and that your position was not an influencing factor. Out of respect for how much you used to mean to me and an acknowledgement to how fond I am of you still, I must decline your invitation. I hope you truly do find love, but I know deep down that you were meant for someone more compassionate than me. I can’t imagine the kind of contests that are being held for your hand in the palace, but please be thorough with your considerations. Forever is a long time to be with someone and find out you don’t like them as much as you’d thought, I’d hate for you to have the chance to choose your spouse and realize you chose poorly._

_Fondly, Wiatt.”_

Erik put the letter down gently on the nearest table. He told himself he shouldn’t be surprised. And that he should be grateful Wiatt had been so genuine with him. 

******

Angel told him she was unable to get James Deloncret his invitation despite hunting down the Deloncret manor in one of the eastern provinces. Maslin Islenger dropped by Erik’s chambers the night before to tell Erik he would be attending, a rather bold move but Maslin was otherwise perfectly respectful so Erik had allowed it. The day of his tennis match Marcos Du Bellay informed him at the start of the match that Alaine had been offended at the idea of competing with several other nobles so openly, even if it was for a Prince, and she would not be attending the match. Evalin and Maslin were in attendance, as was Cain Marko. 

“I didn’t realize you and the prince knew each other so well,” Evalin said to Maslin at the start of the match, doing her best to sound steely.

“I didn’t realize Erik was interested in women,” Maslin replied nonchalantly.

Evalin laughed, genuinely. “I suppose he does have a preference, after all two thirds of those of us who got invitations are men. And many, including Alaine herself, seem to think he sent one to Du Bellay out of courtesy more than interest.”

“I don’t blame him; if this is the level of offense that she took after being offered a chance at marrying the prince, imagine the offense she would’ve taken at her brother’s tennis match being used as a courtship event without their prior knowledge.”

“So you think he invited her knowing she would turn it down?”

“It makes no difference to me, truthfully. There were six invitations originally, and seeing as how you me and some Marko are the only ones that showed up, that puts the contenders down to three. No offense, but I think in the end he’ll prefer a man, and I outrank Marko quite considerably so I am quite confident about my odds in this affair.”

“Aren’t you now,” Evalin commented. “What do you think of all the blue in the crowd today?”

Maslin seemed refreshed at the change of subject. “I think it’s adorable. Someone in the court swears he once heard Erik say he prefers the color blue and all of the sudden every marryable girl and every marryable man who is willing to be penetrated is wearing their bluest garb out every day.”

There was a gasp from the crowd as Prince Erik missed a serve that shot into the crowd and he stumbled backward into the few people, mostly women in the front row. Maslin snickered as he watched four different women stuff hankerchiefs into Erik’s sport tunic, and the clear disgust on his face.

Erik turned to Marcos across the tennis court when he had righted himself, shaking off the near fall and preparing for the next serve. Marcos gestured for Erik to return the ball. 

Erik looked around on the ground for the tennis ball, then groaned as he realized someone in the crowd surely had it. He motioned for one of the racket hands to get him a new ball but Marcos pointed behind him. 

Cain Marko was standing near the front of the crowd, a ruby red tunic drawing all eyes to him against the sea of blue satin and silk, holding up the recently lost tennis ball. 

Erik walked over to Cain to take it back and Cain smiled smugly at him. “I believe you lost something?”

“It seems I have. Thank you monsieur Marko.”

Cain’s eyes blatantly flicked down and back to look the Prince in the eye. “Always a pleasure to hold a royal ball,” he said as he handed over the tennis ball. 

Erik turned red with embarrassment as the crowd within earshot suppressed a laugh.

Evalin keenly observed from across the tennis court as Cain handed Prince Erik the tennis ball. “Ah, so that’s Marko.”

“What makes you say that?” Maslin asked, bored.

“Whatever he just said to Erik, it must’ve been quite crude. Who else would get away with a pass like that besides you or me right now, that neither of us would recognize?”

Maslin broke out into laughter. “Oh, my. And he thinks he’s going to /seduce/ the prince into marriage? Could he be any more transparent?”

“It is a bit… tacky.” 

Evalin and Maslin continued to gossip idly through the rest of the tennis match, clearly bored with the sport. Having been surprised by Cain's appearance, Erik couldn't help but scan the crowd for James, as he never did say he would not be coming. Which Erik knew was dumb because Angel said he'd never received his invitation. Yet, opening himself to the public had been Jame's idea, surely he wouldn't miss this?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plothole= Emma gave Charles the kite at the end of the day on the river but I never mentioned it till now, I'll probably go back and add it to that chapter but I'm mentioning it here so you don't have to go back to read that again.
> 
> Trigger Warning for eating disorders: Kurt being an emotionally abusive piece of shit about Raven enjoying sweets at one point, I don't know how intense it might be for someone with a history of an eating disorder so I thought I'd add the warning. It's a setup for a really badass line during the final confrontation of the movie that I want to include so I decided to keep that bit in, but if you'll be skipping it skip over the section with the hashtags at the front of every line. If you're not skipping it read like the hashtags and the few empty lines aren't there.

The Markos were invited to the post match luncheon on account of the impression Cain managed to make on the Queen. Kurt and Raven sat to the right of the Queen discussing Cain’s clever choice of wardrobe as Kurt effortlessly navigated conversation with her. Once or twice he swatted at Raven’s hand when she was reaching for a pastry tray on the table.

 

 

# “They’re not even that far, father, it’s not like I’m reaching across the table!” She hissed at him when the Queen’s attention was on someone else.  


 # “We’re not here for you, dear, we’re here for Cain. We wouldn’t want the wrong sibling to leave the _biggest_ impression behind, in their memories or in their seat cushions now would we Raven?” Kurt pinched at her cheek to emphasize when he said biggest.  


 # Raven, infuriated, resigned herself further into her chair and only drank tea for the rest of the luncheon. She glared at Cain as he ignored her and flirted with the prince.

 

 

“These here are my favorite,” Prince Erik said.  


 “The lemon ones? But they’re so tart.” Cain protested lightly.  


 “Well clearly I’m not one for any thing that would agree with me,” Prince Erik joked.  


 Raven rolled her eyes, and she heard a woman two seats down from her snicker.  


 “Which are your second favorite then?” Cain asks.  


 “Hmm… These. No, wait! Close your eyes, I’m quite sure you’ve never had one before and I want to know what you think without any preconceptions.” Erik reached out for a small plate of dark brown squares. “Here.”  


 Cain, playing hard into having been told to close his eyes, opened his mouth and leaned forward a little bit.  


 Erik hesitated- he clearly had not thought through how much he was encouraging Cain’s immodest behavior. He plucked one of the small dark brown squares by a corner and tried to slide it into Cain’s mouth without touching his lips.  


 Cain of course made sure he failed and closed his mouth enough that his top lip dragged along Erik’s finger on its way out. "Mmm," Cain moaned softly. "It's divine. What is it?"  


 Erik recoiled, and found himself slightly embarrassed for the second time that day. "Uh. Chocolate. From the Spanish colonies."  


 He continued the conversation he'd been having with less enthusiasm. His thoughts drifted to the letter from Wiatt, and his warning _"Forever is a long time to be with someone and find out you don’t like them as much as you’d thought."_

******

On a day they knew the Markos would be out for a few hours, Charles and Hank took some things to do and spent the afternoon out on the far inner edge of the orchard and set up a small picnic for themselves. Hank brought a small easel and some paints and Charles brought the kite Emma had given him.  


 "She said it has to be windy for it to fly by itself, but this is hardly any more than a breeze and it's soaring!"  


 “It must be all the extra wings on it that makes it fly so well. It’s so complicated I can hardly recognize it as a kite.”  


 Hank and Charles made idle chat, enjoying the sunshine and warm spring weather. It was a moment too late when they noticed the royal procession cresting the hill had taken a turn from the road that passes the villa and was now cutting directly through the field towards them.  


 “Is that the Prince??”   


 “Shit!” Charles dashed for a nearby bale of hay to sit behind and pray they had not yet been able to tell how many people they were approaching.  


 Hank nervously busied himself with his landscape, pretending not to notice the horses approaching him until he could hear the steps of the horses.  


 “He-hello! Your highness is it? What brings me the honor of your presence on our humble manor? I believe the Markos are in town today!” Hank’s voice shook just a little.  


 There was a royal guard, the prince, and a woman wearing all white. From Charles’ stories, he assumed this was Emma.  


 “Yes, I am actually quite aware.” Erik shifted in his saddle. “I don’t think I would be able to go out for a ride in this area if the Markos were in. But. I did not come to ask you about the Markos, I came to ask where I can find James DeLoncret.”  


 Charles squeaked in shock at the mention of himself.  


 “I- uh- Lonchret? I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name, your highness.” Hank bluffed.  


 Erik’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Isn’t that Emma DaVinci’s flying contraption over there, by that bale of hay?” He pointed towards the kite, and unbeknownst to him, to Charles.  


 “Looks like it to me,” Emma said nonchalantly.  


 Charles cursed himself silently as he threw away the cast of string, hoping the kite would drift and not give away his position any more than it already had.  


 Hank feigned a spark of recognition. “Oh! You must mean the Baron’s distant cousin! I’ve only met the fellow once, but yes I know who you mean, of course.” Hank forced himself to laugh.  


 “So he is here?” Erik asked eagerly.  


 “Yes, yes he is! He prefers to stay in the back house of the villa, likes his privacy. You just need to go around the orchard here first and then ask one of the maids.”  


 “Thank you, monseiur!” Erik snapped his reigns and took off, the guard following closely behind.  


 Emma peered over her saddle at Hank’s easl. “Nice paining,” she mused, before following behind.  


 Charles ran up to Hank full of panic. Hank however was glazed and starstruck. “She likes my painting. Emma DaVinci likes my painting…”  


 “HANK. That’s good and well but now the Prince thinks he knows where to find me and Moira and Jean will have no idea what he’s talking about when he gets there!”  


 Hank snapped out of his daze. “Right. Right! I told him to take the long way around; if we sprint there we can make it to the house when they do and we can stall while you change!”  


 They took off, both running as fast as they could. Charles was an excellent runner, but Hank was unnaturally fast. He shouted frantically as he approached the servant’s house, and Jean was running into the servant’s house with a random tunic when the party on horseback arrived at the front of the house.  


 Logan was waiting in the yard- the servant’s quarters did not have a courtyard, so it was really just a small field in front of the house. “I must insist on the full honors, your highness, after all I owe you my freedom and every day with My Love from here to the end of my days. Please, let me take your horses to our stables, I will give them water and a brush over. We are honored by your presence yet again, your Highness.”  


 Erik politely cleared his throat. “You are very welcome, monsieur. In fact, I am here to see your master, Monsieur DeLoncret. I assume since you are here, he is as well?”  


 When it seemed Logan had taken up as much time as he could without being obvious, Moira came out to greet the Prince. “Your highness; this is an honor we were most unprepared for today, but are delighted to oblige! The Baron is not in, but his hospitality is always here for you,” Moira orated her welcome to Erik and his party, doing her best to set the pace of the conversation at a leisurely one.  


 Erik did his best not to let his anticipation make him impolite. “Yes, I know the Baron is not in at this time. I actually came because I heard James DeLoncret was staying here.”  


 “Oh! My apologies, your highness. May I go fetch him for you?” Erik nodded politely and Moira took measured steps back into the house as Erik followed behind her.  
Inside the house, Hank and Jean were finishing rushing to help dess Charles. The trousers were on and the tunic secured, Hank shoved his feet into socks and shoes while  


 Jean combed through his windswept hair and took a damp cloth to his slightly sweaty brow. Once ready, Charles bolted towards the door.  


 “Monsieur DeLoncret? You have a visit-” Moira was cut of by Charles nearly colliding with her.  


 “Yes! Yes darling, thank you.  


 “Your highness, I did not think I would be seeing you again! To what occasion do I owe the pleasure?”  


 Erik stood still for a moment and stared at Charles. His eyes were a more vivid blue than Erik remembered, his cheeks seemed flush and, Erik was surely imagining it but it seemed Charles was full of adrenalin, excitement to see him perhaps? That this was the same man that had been alluding Erik for two weeks left him quite amused.  


 “You owe it to no occasion at all. Would you like to go for a ride with me?”  


 Charles couldn’t help but let his heart flutter. “These are not riding boots.”  


 Erik smiled. “A walk, then?”  


 Charles nodded and swallowed nervous excitement, crossing the threshold of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus friends! I went to swcc celebration and I put this fic on hold to make my Jyn Erso cosplay (which came out fucking amazing https://www.instagram.com/p/BwKwnDKhq2s/ )


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ton of mention of christian religious philosophy, the Divine Comedy would've been a relatively recent publication for them so I thought it would be good material for Intellectually Stimulating Conversation, but I think for this part of the story it gets a little sloppy on who has what opinions because I think they both would've made a good Danielle and most ppl would've put Charles as the one with the privileged background.

The party rode off past the manor's fields and into the forest nearby. Emma and the royal guard rode behind Erik and Charles, giving them the space to talk among themselves. Emma and the Guardsman, Scott, went back and forth in pleasantries and all were in a wonderfully high spirits. The party stopped for a light lunch and while dismounting Emma slipped and twisted her ankle.

Guardsman Scott delicately removed Emma's boot and she softly hissed in pain. "Definitely not broken, but at least sprained. We need to go back to the palace to minimize any further damage. You'll need to ride back side straddling, and it'll take us quite some time to get home at a light pace; I suggest we head back immediately."

Charles says, "I... can't head into town." Charles piped up.

The three of them turned their heads and gave Charles a questioning look.

"I told the Marko's I'd stay at the villa and it'd be quite embarrassing for me to run into them. With you. I know Cain fancies you." It wasn't exactly a lie. In the back of Charles' mind he worried he was getting too good at spinning the truth.

Emma turned to the guard from where she was sitting on the ground. "Oh Scott, you wouldn't split them up, would you? Prince Erik has been looking for Deloncret for weeks! Surely Erik can handle one afternoon by himself in Deloncret's domain?"

Guardsman Scott looked exasperated. He glanced frantically between Emma's swelling ankle and Charles' sad smile. His eyes fell on Erik, and where he expected a stern look meant to strong arm him into complying with everyone's suggestion, he found a hopeful, earnest face that held no trace of the anger he usually saw Erik handle his guards with.

"If you are back later than sunset, the Queen will have me removed from my position. Please do not let me regret this favor, Your Grace."

"I would not dare. I am in your debt."

 

******

 

"Oh we're hardly lost! I know this area so once we find a road we can find our way back."

"So in layman's terms, you're a horrible navigator and I've made a grave mistake putting my life in your hands." Erik's voice rung with drama.

Charles hummed bemusedly as he spun in a circle, looking upward. "In layman's terms, this is the part where you realize how resourceful and self-sufficient I am," Charles began unfastening the buttons on his tunic- Cain's tunic, that he could not afford to rip or damage.

Erik froze with confusion and Charles rolled his eyes. "I'm not ruining a new tunic for a few moments of altitude." Charles shrugged off his tunic and tossed it at Erik, who snatched it out of the air.

Charles chose a tree that had plenty of thick and easily reachable branches and climbed until he could see the treeline around him. He could hear Erik taunting him not to fall, and faintly heard horses in the distance. 

As he began his descent, he realized the sound of horses grew closer. Charles filled with dread at unexpected company and scrambled down the tree to see Erik surrounded by Roma.

A slender woman in a scarlet shawl held his (Cain's) tunic and was pointing a sword at Erik. She catches sight of Charles, shirtless, and smiles tauntingly. "Ah, so this was yours I assume? Good sir, my brother thanks you for this fine garment."

Charles slowed his descent from the tree, looking around to count how outnumbered they were. Not that it mattered, as Charles knew how to scrap one on one and Erik probably only knew how to fence for sport. And was without a blade. Charles decided he would have to bluff.

"Your insolence is baffling, truly. I /expect/ you to return my tunic, my companion, and as you've startled away our horses I demand a horse as well."

She laughed. "On whose authority? Your prince is our prisoner."

"I don't appeal to any authority or sense of law; it's only in your best interest. You can't all be prepared to risk your life over a ransom you'll have to split 12 ways."

A chorus of laughter emitted from the band of Roma surrounding them.

"My lord, your will is irrefusable. You may have anything you can carry," the woman in red bowed mockingly.

Charles thought carefully. "And I have your word on that?"

She nodded, amused.

Charles slowly walked past a few men encircling Erik and looked in his eyes before holding out his hand. Erik took it slowly and Charles bent down and pulled the prince across his shoulders by the hand. 

The crowd around him erupted into laughter as Charles lifted with his legs and began to take wobbly steps out of the circle of Roma around them.

"Monsieur please," The woman in red chortled, holding her side. Charles took a step to the side to turn towards her to give a short curtsy with his head bowed, his hair beginning to stick to his forehead with sweat and his face flushed.

The band of Roma had long broken their fighting stances and could not have been in a better mood. "Oh come back! I'll give you a horse!" 

 

*******

 

The woman with the red shawl introduced herself as Wanda, and insisted they come back to camp for food and drink. Erik was wary but Charles had agreed immediately.

It took Erik some time to relax but eventually he found himself sitting in a circle with Chalres, Wanda, and her brother as they all enjoyed a cup of wine. Erik did not ask where they'd gotten the barrel, but it tasted quite like the wine the palace kept in their cellars.

"So how do you two know each other?" Pierto plopped down next to Charles by the fire.

"I was on an errand in the palace courtyard when the Prince was nearby, he helped me keep a servant from being shipped off to the colonies."

"I've been chasing him down ever since, no one at court will simply discuss literature with me."

"What's the last thing you read?" Charles said, turning his body towards Pierto and Wanda.

"The Divine Comedy... It was mediocre at best."

"How could you not love it?! It's a masterpiece!" Erik gasped.

"It's so monotonous in writing style. And so pious." Pierto groaned

"I didn't find it that rhythmic at all," Charles mused.

"It is in Italian." Wanda replied.

"You can read Italian?" Erik asked, impressed.

"We can /only/ read in Italian," Wanda laughed.

"Oh. Well I'll concede to your first point Pierto, but it's a religiously inspired work, and an incredibly vivid and detailed view of the justices of hell."

"Justices? You think there are really no bigger sinners in eternity than Cassius and Brutus?" Wanda asked.

"How could there be? They betrayed their emperor, country, and their friend in what they did and caused political unrest for decades. Centuries if you consider that their actions, indirectly, caused the collapse of Rome and the subsequent Dark Ages."

"But they had no idea all of that would follow; they thought they were saving Rome from a tyrant! And furthermore to say that betrayal of the state is the worst sin one can commit is incredibly authoritarian." Charles commented.

Pierto laughed. “Would you expect him not to be?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Then beg,” Pierto quipped. Erik riled up with anger but Wanda cut him off.

“You are not our sovereign here, Prince. Our people have roamed this land for centuries but none of your countries grant us citizenship, nor let us own land on occasion that we try; They call us heathens, and heretics for not worshipping your god; Your people do not respect us or our ways. So, forgive us if you do not have our respect- you’ll have to earn it.” Wanda punctuated her last words by leaning back against the rocks behind her and taking a long sip of wine, her eyebrows raised at Erik.

Erik silently pondered her words for a moment. “Alright then. Who would you name the other two biggest sinners of eternity then?"

"Presumptions to say I'd name Judas." Pierto laughed.

"Pharaoh Ahmose," Charles offered. "He subjected his people to famine, pestilence, death, and God's wrath out of Pride and Greed in refusing to free the Jews.

"Oh, I like that one."

"Gilles de Rais***," Erik said slowly. "He murdered something around 200 children and adolescents, for fun. He tortured them horrifically."

“But a safe one,” Erik admits. “What judge would not condemn unnecessary suffering of the innocent?”

“The Greeks had a few,” Charles points out.

“I think the Nords do as well.” Pierto adds.

“And I think being subjects of a Pharaoh who would not release his slaves hardly warrants famine, pestilence, and the loss of your firstborn son.” Wanda smiles devilishly, knowing she’d gone too far.

Erik exploded into a rant about how God offered every soul a chance for conversion in life, and the Egyptians after seeing all of Moses’s plauges could have also slaughtered a lamb and put up it’s blood. Charles made a point that the Egyptians condoned and benefited from the enslavement of the Isrealites. Pierto pointed out the English and Spanish were taking slaves in Africa and the New World, and was Charles implying that the heads of half of Europe going to hell?

“The half not in present company, sure.” Charles was bold in the wine he’d had, and with the flow of conversation being so unfiltered by pretense.

“I’d love to hear you say that at court.” Erik laughed. “Of course, I’d have to get you to court first. So you think the French are exempt?"

"Oh I didn't say that. You are not yet in power, but when you are, will you let the injustices you inherit remain in place? What would have happened to Logan if I hadn't come for him, the day we met? He would've been shipped off to the colonies. We may call it indentured servitude, serfdom, whichever word fancies us, but any man who is not at the helm of his own fate is just a slave with altered terms."

"That servant... Wasn't your servant was it? It was Marko's?"

Charles' face went red, but after a moment he decided to just shrug it off.

"You are one of the most intriguing people I have ever met."

"You should meet more people,"

"I mean it, truly. You're witty, intelligent, and your humility is incredibly pure and isn't the least bit self deprecating. You are truly in control of your life."

Charles laughed, "I'm not one for pity, no."

"What about affection?" Erik asked, looking into his eyes.

Charles said nothing so Erik reached to put a hand on Charles' cheek. Charles’ eyes fluttered down to look at Erik’s lips, stained lightly with wine. Chalres’ breathing is quickened, his eyes almost hungry when he looks back into Erik’s.

Erik slides his hand from Charles’ cheek into his hair and leans in to Charles.

Charles closes the distance and his eyes close as their lips meet. Erik kisses him tenderly, then pulls Charles towards him even more with the hand in his hair. 

Charles feels emotion swell in his chest and he reaches out and takes a fistful of Erik’s shirt, His tongue slips into Erik’s mouth.

“Ayy!” Wanda and Peirto’s jeering at them snap Erik and Charles back to reality. Charles wipes his mouth, still reeling, and Erik is blushing with embarrassment.

They all laugh lightly about it, and Erik and Charles rejoin the conversation with the rest of the Roma. Erik takes Charles’ hand in his and lightly strokes his thumb over Charles’ for the remainder of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** real person, don't look him up if you don't want to read some fucked up stuff.
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter is hella overdue but it's also longer than most so ur welc. I didn't realize this was gonna be a slow burn. does this count as a slow burn because this is like halfway through the story.


End file.
